


Project Hancock

by doxydejour



Series: Tabitha's Sanctuary [2]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 10:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5662567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doxydejour/pseuds/doxydejour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a vacant lot in Sanctuary, and guess what? The Mayor of Goodneighbor thinks it would make an excellent spot for a local drinking hole! Whether the Female SS wants it to or not! Oh, and she’s also in charge of getting all of the supplies. Because of course she is! This quest adds +30 to settler happiness. Rated T for swearsies and a tiiiiiny bit of Super Mutant-related violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Project Hancock

MAP UPDATED  
**New Quest: Project Hancock  
** _Speak to Hancock_

 

“I want to build a bar,” said Hancock.

Tabitha let out a groan and pulled her head up from where it had been resting on her Armor Workbench. She squinted at him. “What time is it?” She asked. Her voice cracked and squeaked at the end and she coughed, hard. _Too much time with Valentine_ , she thought. _Too much second-hand smoke. Maybe I can glue a No Smoking sign to my armor._

_Or his face._

“It’s time to build a bar,” said Hancock.

She swiveled her head on a neck that felt like it was made of rusted ball-bearings and eventually located her window; despite the fact that it had been made from the cloudy glass of melted-down Nuka Cola bottles, she could still tell it was dark outside. “Is the sun even _up_ yet?”

“Bein’ that it’s midnight, that’s a negatory.”

 _Negatory_. _Jesus._ “Have you been hacking into Brotherhood radio transmissions with Deacon and Sturges again?”

Hancock sighed, hands on hips. “Stop changing the subject, sister. Are you listening to me or not?”

“Or not.” Tabitha pushed herself to her feet and steadied herself on the corner of the Workbench. She looked down at her handiwork. She’d been working on modifying her chestplate to contain an inner pocket but had drifted off halfway through reinforcing the pouch...and had merely managed to weld the inner lining to the actual bench. _Fuck_.

“Shame you didn’t burn your face off,” Hancock observed drily. “Then you’d be as pretty as I am.”

Tabitha ran a hand through her hair. It was so stiff with grease and oil that it stayed stuck up in flimsy peaks despite being over nine inches long. She caught sight of her reflection in the wheel rim she used as a mirror and closed her eyes.  “So, what were you saying about a bar?”

“It’s a very simple proposition,” said Hancock, in a manner that suggested the Mayor of Goodneighbor was very used to all propositions being simple so long as he was the one making them. “You’ve got an empty lot down by the bridge. Build a bar on it.”

Tabitha kept her eyes closed. “Haven’t we got...more important things to be focusing on? Like the farming? And the water pumps? And the not dying of Super Mutant attacks?” An image of Preston’s concerned face swam up before her eyes. _General, I’ve been sent news of another settlement that needs our help..._ She cringed.

Hancock shook his head. “The people of Sanctuary are down, sister. They’ve been breaking their backs for scraps and they’re tired out and starting to look like a pack of the downtrodden. I say they deserve a break. I say they deserve some fun! I say they deserve a goddamn _bar_.”

Tabitha opened her eyes and gave him a nonplussed look, then pointed at the hastily-painted sign that hung on her shack’s east wall.

 **NO** ****__**SMOKING**  
**NO** **_BARKING  
_ ** **NO** ******_PREACHING_**

“It didn’t ‘No Preaching’ last week,” said Hancock.

“Well observed.” said Tabitha. She shrugged. “Look, I take your point about morale; I know Preston’s been worried about it. But where exactly do you propose to get the materials and...detritus for a bar? I know you’re a Mayor and all, but you aren’t exactly rolling in dough. You keep giving all your bottlecaps away to random sob stories.” _And my Stimpacks_ , she felt like adding. _And my goddamn_ wine _._

Hancock grinned. “Hey, why do you think I came to you before we started work?”

She folded her arms. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe to _ask permission_?”

“Nah.” Hancock an old, battered notebook from his pocket. The pages were thick with waterlogging and the cover - which had once been red but now only showed up a dismal pinkish brown - hung in tatters. It was so ordinary, so out of place next to her dusty workbenches and armor collection that she found herself mesmerised by it and didn’t hear the beginning of Hancock’s spiel.

“...then there’s a bar counter type thing nailed down in one of the houses that we can rip up no problem - my gal Mama Murphy sure ain’t using it - and we can salvage the stuff for the privies from our little storage bunker. Did you know that Sturges has a whole room dedicated to just sinks? It’s sorta creepy.” He looked up. “And then there’s the stuff you can salvage.”

She pulled her attention back into the conversation. “What?”

“Aw, come on. You’re good at findin’ stuff, I’ve seen the hauls you bring back. I’ve been with you when you make ’em. If there’s any goodies to be found, you stick your nose to the ground and you find them.”

She blinked. “Did you just compare me to a _dog_?”

“In a good way. I mean, Dogmeat’s a dog, right? But seriously, this is your jam. I have a shopping list of all the stuff we need and you should be able to find most of it in  the downtown ruins. I even wrote down some places for you try.” He tore a sheaf of paper from his notebook with one smooth motion and held it out to her. “Look at me, channeling my inner-Preston.” He shuddered. “Makes me kinda uncomfortable, actually.”

She looked over his shoulder at her bed, standing proud under a mountain of moldy duvets, and felt her shoulders slump. She accepted the list and looked at it with one raised brow. “Uh, Hancock. How exactly do you suggest I _carry_ all this stuff?”

“Uh, with your Power Armour?” And his tone said _duh_.

“Right. I can picture it now. I’m lugging a Nuka Cola machine back up the road with a pack of rabid dogs biting at my ankles and a Brotherhood patrol shooting at my head and a Super Mutant Suicider running over the horizon at me…when a Deathclaw shows up to share in the joy of the occasion.”

Hancock’s smile widened. “Oh, no, don’t you worry ’bout a thing, sister! Deacon’s agreed to go with you.”

She stared at him. “I’ll take Nick.”

“Set off for Diamond City to work on a case.” He caught her hurt expression. “He didn’t want to wake you.”  

“Okay, so I’ll take you.”

“As much as I appreciate your forwardness, I’m gonna be buildin’ me a bar with Sturges and his bitchin’ crew.”

“Codsworth.”

“On a shindig with Curie.”

“MacCready?”

“Haven’t seen him for days.”

“Piper.”

“Workin’ on a hot new story so deep that she threw a pipe wrench at me when I knocked on her door.”

“Preston.”

“Off at the Castle doin’...whatever it is Minutemen do when they’re not, you know, Minutemenning. I think I heard him on the radio, actually. Boy’s got a good voice.” Hancock tapped his pen against his teeth. “Wonder if I can get him to sing us a few tunes once the dance floor’s finished?”

Tabitha felt her eye twitch. “ _Dance...floor_?”

Without another word she walked to her door, flung it open, and stepped out into the cool night air. She marched up to the vacant lot and stood at the centre of it, balancing carefully on top of the mountain of junk that had once been a house and ignoring the bemused stares of the two settlers on front gate duty. “Dance floor,” she repeated when Hancock joined her. “Hancock, this lot is _tiny_. You can’t fit a dance floor on here with everything else.”

“Not on the ground floor, no.” He stepped back and held up the thumb and forefingers of his hands, creating a square frame, and stuck his tongue between his teeth. “Staircase at the back of the room in the shadows leading up to a rooftop dance floor, resplendent with LED panels and a second jukebox.” His arms fell to his sides. “Actually, maybe the staircase would be better on the outside. Give the partiers a breath of fresh air in between drinkin' and dancin'.”

“I didn’t know you were such an architect,” said Tabitha weakly.

“It was mostly Sturges’ idea. I just gave him the _vision._ ”

“Okay.” She looked down again at the piece of paper in her hand. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it. But I’m not setting off until the morn -”

“Hey hey _hey_!” Deacon slid into her field of vision from seemingly nowhere and she felt her heart sink. He was in his usual get up - black wig, Wastelander plaid shirt and jeans, sunglasses - and carrying the modified 10mm pistol she’d gifted him with last month. “Who’s ready to make us a bar?”  He caught Tabitha’s sour expression. “Aw, come on. You already stuck it to the Institute, nuke-style, _and_ caused one heck of a boom when you told Maxson to shove it. I’m sure you can handle a little moonlight salvage retrieval.”

“I could handle a good night’s sleep more,” she said pointedly.

“I know, right? A good hard nap is _so_ hard to come by these days what with all the radiation and the danger and the death.” He held up three fingers, and frowned at his curled pinkie. “I’m sure there’s a fourth one. Oh yeah! The bloodbugs, they make such a racket at night. So what’s the first item on our list?”

Tabitha sighed. It was going to be a long week.

 

 **OBJECTIVE #1: INSERT COIN, RECEIVE SODA  
** _Locate a functional Nuka Cola machine and return with it to Sanctuary Hills_

“At least this one turned out pretty easy.” Deacon observed as he leant against the railing at the edge of Red Rocket’s parking lot and watched her pull the Nuka Cola machine away from the wall with a sharp _rrrrrrrip_ of splintering metal. “I mean, not to brag or anything, but I think I can see my house from here.” He squinted into the distance. “Oh. Wait, no, that house is on fire. Must be in Concord.”

“Or I took a match to yours before we set off.” Tabitha noted. She had only been in her Power Armour for thirty minutes and she was already sweating enough to fill one of Hancock’s moonshine distilleries, but she had to admit it was remarkably easier to wreak structural havoc on the garage with it on. “Burnt up all your pretty clothes and wigs.”

“Then I guess you just made Becky Fallon a very happy woman.”

She swung the machine on one of its corners and managed to pick it up, the pneumatics in the Power Armour’s arms making light work of the weight but the strain still pulling at her shoulders. “Deacon,” she grunted, “you’re supposed to be keeping watch.”

“I am!” He protested. “I’m totally watching that house burn down. Whoomp. There it goes.”

*

Walking between Red Rocket and Sanctuary on a normal, sunny day typically took Tabitha about ten minutes. Walking between Red Rocket and Sanctuary in the pitch black of night with her headlamp and eyes obscured by the heaving red and white mass of vending machine, and only a delicate trust in Deacon to guide her, took a little over an hour and a half.

By the time she approached Hancock, who was stood to the side of the proposed building site watching Sturges’ team erect floodlights and generators at each of the four corners, she was about ready to commit homicide. Very, very _specific_ homicide.

“I got your Nuka Cola machine,” she wheezed, slamming the requested item down on the pavement before hitting the emergency release and practically falling out of the back of her Power Armour. _Gotta look in the ruins for some gears to fix the inner cooling fans._ “Next time, send me after an Alpha Deathclaw with one of Moe’s shittiest Swatters.”

“Way to go, sister.” Hancock gave the machine a critical once-over in the harsh light of the halogens and nodded. “It looks great, and our gal Carla has promised me a whole shipment of Nuka Cherries to fill it.”

“Trashcan Carla hasn’t been in town for weeks,” said Tabitha. “Exactly how long have you been planning this project?”

“Since about twenty seconds after we first arrived in this little settlement of yours.” He folded his arms. “Roll into a new town full of hardworking people and there’s no place for them to take their downtime after a hard day’s grind? Makes a guy weep, it really does.”

Tabitha waved her hand in the direction of the town’s front gates: huge doors made of scraps of wood, sheet steel, barbed wire and old tractors tires, reinforced by two inner guard posts and three machine turrets that gently chugged their way through life day after day. “Sorry, I was too busy trying to make sure everybody didn’t die of perfectly preventable Raider attacks.”

Hancock held up a patient hand. “Which is why you needed me along for the ride. To take care of the little things. Like nobody dying of sadness and boredom.”

Deacon coughed from behind them. “If you two have finished with your dick-measuring contest, I sure would like to get on with our list.” He looked Tabitha up and down. “That was entirely metaphorical, by the way.”

She raised her eyebrow at him. “Oh, honey,” she said sweetly. “How would you know?” She turned back to Hancock. “I’m going to bed. I’m going to have a long, long sleep. And then tomorrow - uh, well, later _today_ \- I’ll head out for the next thing. That okay with you, boss?”

“Sure,” said Hancock, who somehow possessed the ability to make a single word sound magnanimous. “Take all the time you need, sister. You earned it.” As she walked away, he continued: “Course, if we had a bar you could take your downtime over a nice cool beer with some pals, which would probably help more.”

She stuck her middle finger up over her shoulder.

 

 **OBJECTIVE #2: INSERT COIN, RECEIVE MUSIC  
** _Locate and retrieve the parts required for assembling a Jukebox_  
_(Optional) Locate a functioning Jukebox somewhere in the Commonwealth_

“The trick here,” Deacon shouted over the reports of his pistol, “is to not die.”

“Thank you for clarifying that!” Tabitha screamed back. “That’s really good advice! I’d write it down for the future but I’ve lost my pen!” She spun on her heel, took aim with her shotgun, and fired. The head of the Super Mutant giving her chase exploded in a cloud of red gristle and eyeballs.

“Nice shot,” shouted Deacon.

“Thanks!” She reloaded and swung around to club the Mutant Hound thundering up behind her around the face with the stock. Before it had a chance to recover from the hit she put the barrel to its flank and fired twice. It was dead before it hit the ground.

Silence fell as the echoes from their short battle faded into the distance, save for a distant rumbling battle between Gunners and Raiders that they had managed to skirt earlier in the day. They stood together for a moment in an agreeable quiet, both panting from the exertion of the battle.

Tabitha pulled Hancock’s list from where she had tucked it into the waistband of her pants. “Two parts copper, two parts glass, and two parts steel. We have the glass.” She looked up and squinted at the ruined buildings around them. “I reckon we could look in Watts...no, sorry, _Wattz_ Consumer Electronics for the copper and steel.”

They spent half an hour scrounging through leftover detritus, trying to locate the best parts for Sturges to use: Tabitha on steel and Deacon on copper. Finally, just as she was about to call it quits, Deacon let out a laugh.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” he called from behind a heap of collapsed shelving against the far wall of the shop. “But either I’ve just found us an actual pre-war jukebox or Hancock pumped a load of Jet into my pillow last night.”

“If doing Jet just makes you see imaginary jukeboxes then you’re definitely the most boring junkie I’ve met so far.” Tabitha stumbled through the thick gloom towards him. “I took a hit once on a dare and the world didn’t stop shaking for days.”

“Did you at least win the dare?”

“No. Sheffield argued that it didn’t count because I threw it all back up anyway.”

Deacon frowned. “How do you vomit a vapor?”

“I’m not sure, but I managed it.”

It wasn’t a Jet-fueled hallucination. In the days leading up to the big bang, the general manager of Wattz had decided to start stocking jukeboxes as well as re-purposed military robots in order to lure in the patrons who had begun to buy all of their electronic goods from the ever swelling shelves of the local Super Duper Mart. ‘Lost leaders’, he had called them. ‘Lost brains’, his employees had called him.

They looked at it together. Aside from a small crack in the front of the glass caused by a falling ceiling support, and two hundred years of sitting in dust and dirt, it looked functional. “So…” said Deacon after a pause. “You left your Power Armour back at the base, didn’t you?”

Tabitha’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah. I did.”

*

It took two days and three Raider skirmishes to get the jukebox back into town on top of the half a day it had already taken Tabitha to fetch her Power Armour, and upon returning to Sanctuary she was pleasantly surprised at the progress that had been made in their combined absence. She hadn't noticed on her first swing around: she'd been too busy trying to sneak back to her Power Armor stand without anybody noticing her, a mission that had gone about as well as she might have expected given that she managed to run smack into Sturges's rather solid torso.

The lot had been entirely cleared of junk, most of which had then been re-purposed into the walls, floor and ceiling of the main building. The entire structure stood tall and proud at two storeys. A staircase was currently under construction on the left-hand side of the building, leading up to the second floor which lay open to the elements at the front with a waist-high wall separating revelers from plunging onto the pavement below. On the front of the building, either side of the main door, were two flags: one Minutemen, one star-spangled. Beneath the Minutemen flag, a forlorn-looking flamingo stood on its single leg and stared balefully back at her. A sarcastic-looking “Employee’s Only” sign was bolted to the lintel beside it.

As she walked closer, the door opened and Hancock and Sturges materialised out of the gloom within. They were deep in discussion, but stopped when they saw her. “Oh. Hey. _Wow_ ,” said Sturges. “I thought when you said you’d found a jukebox you meant a pile of junk _shaped_ like a jukebox.  This is amazing!”

“You mean you doubted our totally legit stuff-finding skills?” Asked Deacon mildly, removing his sunglasses to polish them on his shirt. “I’m hurt, Sturges. I thought we were pals.”

“I’m not sure that the playlist is so great,” Tabitha told Hancock as he gave it a once-over. “It all looks like slow classical stuff.”

“I’m more of a rock ‘n’ roll guy myself,” said Sturges. He hemmed. “This thing looks like it runs on pretty standard holotapes, and I have a few blank ones hanging around in my shack. If you could talk to that DJ boy in Diamond City, I bet he’d make us some copies of some good tunes.”

Tabitha ejected herself from her Power Armour, leaving it standing in the center of the road like the husk of a petulant teenager. “Sure thing. Travis owes me one anyway.”

“Probably also a good spot to start asking about alcohol supplies too,” added Hancock. “I’ve bought a few cases from the traders trundlin’ through but they don’t tend to give their cupboard space to the finer stuff, you know?”

“I can’t guarantee ‘finer stuff’,” said Tabitha, “and I’m not sure what you mean by that anyway. Have you _tasted_ some of the stuff your guys serve at Third Rail? Urgh.” She smiled. “But I guess the Bobrovs  technically owe me for that whole ‘saving Vadim’s life from raiders’ thing from a few months back. I’ll talk to him."

 

 **OBJECTIVE #3: MOODY BLUES AND BOOZY FUMES  
** _Speak to Travis about the holotapes_  
_(Optional) Ask Vadim about supplying Hancock’s project_

Tabitha liked The Dugout Inn far more than The Taphouse, which perched precariously over the entrance of Diamond City so that the cream of the crop could thumb their noses at the riff-raff below them from the confines of their own smug self-centeredness. She had once taken Hancock there for a drink purely so that the two of them could enjoy the scandalous looks on the faces of those around them; too polite to do anything about it (how _do_ you throw out the woman who blew up CIT?), but too disgusted to approach their table. She had expected Nick to have a similar effect and had been pleasantly surprised; he was such a familiar face and had assisted so many of them in private matters without causing a scandal that they seemed to hold a quiet respect for him, although they were not compassionate enough to offer him anything other than a polite hello.

The Dugout Inn, on the other hand, offered a good mix of Diamond City society. Okay, so there could be the occasional bar fight when somebody eyed up somebody else’s man/woman/drink for a little too long, but that just made things more sincere somehow. And whilst the house moonshine wasn’t safe enough to give to an irradiated Molerat on most occasions, Vadim Bobrov always had a decent selection of pre-war stuff on hand. 

She had walked halfway towards the main bar before she spotted a familiar hat through the crowd.

“Nick?” She called, and the shadow in the gloom turned to reveal a pair of glowing yellow filaments and the warm orange heat of a newly-lit cigarette.

“Tabitha. I was just thinking about you.” Nick Valentine held up a battered old glass and gave it a small shake. “And just taking a quick break before hitting the road back to Sanctuary.”

She made her way over to him. “How did your case go?”

“Oh, fine. Kidnapped kid and a gang of Raiders; the usual Commonwealth mess. Nothing a couple of bullets and an issue of _Grognak_ couldn’t fix.” If he had possessed the ability, he would have wrinkled his nose. “I’d’ve rather given the kid something a bit more intellectually stimulating, like a brick, but he had his heart set on it.”  

She punched his arm playfully. “Hey, I like _Grognak_. He’s uncomplicated.” She scratched her cheek. “You should have taken me with you.”

He chuckled. “Aw, but you looked so peaceful snoring away in your puddle of drool. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Oh, so _you’re_ the one who moved my soldering iron. You owe me a new chestpiece, buster.”

“Better than owing you a new face, doll.” He took a drag on his cigarette and then gave her a curious look. “So what brings you to Diamond City, anyhow? I thought you were on downtime.”

“Funnily enough, so did I.” She told him about Hancock’s pet project, and earned a pair of raised eyebrows - or what would have been a pair of raised eyebrows, had the paint not faded years ago - in return.

“A bar, eh? Well, I can see Hancock’s line of thinking. The more facilities Sanctuary has to offer, the more traders we’ll get up our way and the easier it’ll be to shift our crops and get some sort of ecosystem going.” He frowned. “You may need to look at building up the defenses again, though. If there’s one thing Raiders love more than anarchy and cannibalism, it’s a good stiff drink.”

Tabitha rolled her eyes. “I’m not really sure Hancock was thinking of establishing supply lines, Nick. He just probably doesn’t want to walk all the way back to Goodneighbor to get a drink.”

Nick shook his head. “You’re don’t give the man enough credit, Tabi. Hancock may act like the fool but he’s got his head screwed on pretty tight; he’d have to, to remain mayor of a dungheap like Goodneighbor for so long. He’s also the only person I know who can recite the alphabet backwards after three hits of Jet.”

“Well maybe if he stopped taking so much Jet he’d be able to recite it forwards.” Tabitha looked toward the bar and caught Vadim’s eye. “Excuse me for a sec, Nick - I’ve gotta barter us some alcohol.”

Nick followed her line of sight and snorted. “Well, this oughta be good,” he murmured.

“Vadim!” Tabitha beamed as she approached the barman, trying to make herself look as approachable and jaunty as she possibly could after an exhausting day on the road. “Good to see you again!”

“Ah, Tabitha, my old friend! Likewise, likewise. You look well.” Vadim threw open his arms and beckoned her to sit down. “Come, come. Drink, drink. You’ll look even _better_ after some of the best moonshine in the whole Commonwealth, yes?”

“I’ll take a rain check on that, thanks.” She leant closer and he bent down to listen to her. “I’m here on business.”

Vadim’s eyes lit up. “Ah! Shenanigans?”

“Sadly not.” His face fell. “But it _is_ kinda fun.” And for the second time in as many minutes, Tabitha explained quietly about the bar in Sanctuary, this time with the gentle prod that a bar was pretty much nothing without anything to stock it with. Thank goodness her clothes were looking particularly charismatic that day. 

Vadim listened to her entire spiel, then nodded almost straight away. “Listen, if you can get guy - or girl, preferably pretty girl - to come by say...once a month, I will happily sell to them in bulk for huge discount.”

“And will you give a bigger discount for a prettier girl?” Tabitha asked, feeling Nick’s frown settle on her back.

Vadim grinned. “What do you take me for, pushover? Well for you, I am. So yes.”

“Great.” Tabitha returned the grin. “I’ll get Cait to stop by.”

Vadim’s smile faltered. “Okay, new deal. I give huge discount if you do not be sending Cait to get supplies.”

“Sounds good to me.” She bought a couple of Nuka Colas for the road, paying slightly over their market value for Vadim’s trouble as well as a small gift for Sturges’ crew, then wandered off to find Nick waiting for her by the door. “Ready to head out?” He asked. “I actually find myself intrigued to see how Hancock’s little project is coming together.”

“We need to talk to Travis about our jukebox first,” said Tabitha. “Hancock had it going all night before I left, and if I hear _Swan Lake_ one more time I might just tear my hair out.”

*

Travis was found where Travis was always to be found: in the small Diamond City Radio shack in the backstreets of the settlement. He was a sweet man, although she wasn’t exactly sure how he had come to be in charge of one of the Commonwealth’s biggest radio stations; he was shy, timid, nervous and neurotic - although also extremely kind and loyal to his friends. She and Vadim had recently tried a little experiment to give him a confidence boost...one which had ended in a shootout with a particularly brash gang of local Raiders. Travis had puffed out his narrow little chest over that one for all of two days before reverting back to his usual self, but at least she was assured that he knew how to use a gun correctly. Not knowing could be fatal in the Commonwealth.

The little dark alleyways leading to his domain were Tabitha’s favourite parts of the city. She had spent her youth watching old crime flicks from the twentieth century with her father, and seeing neon lights dancing off wet pavements gave her an aching sense of nostalgia that was both pleasant and sad. She gave the Valentine Detective Agency sign an affectionate pat as they walked past, earning her a smile from its resident sleuth.

“How is Ellie?” She asked Nick.

“Fine, fine. She sends her thanks for the dress you found for her at Fallons’; seems there’s a guy she’s been trying to impress at the Inn and it was just the ticket.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “The guy okay?”

“I haven’t met him, but he sounds nice.”

“Sounds nice from what Ellie said, or from the background check you no doubt ran on him the moment Ellie mentioned him?”

His smile narrowed. “No comment.”  

They reached the little trailer Travis called home and she made sure to knock carefully on the door before entering. She’d made the mistake of barging in once and nearly given Travis a coronary.

He was sat at his little desk in the corner of the room as _Whole Lotta Shakin’_ played from the tapes. He still jumped a little when his visitors entered, but relaxed upon seeing who it was.

“Oh, it’s you. Hi - hi there. How are, um, how’s things?”

“Just fine, thanks. How are you and Scarlett?”

He avoided her eyes. “Didn’t really work out.”

“Damn shame,” said Nick, closing the door behind them. “Although I can’t imagine the two of you had a lot in common.”

“She thought Skeeter Davis had a bad singing voice,” said Travis sadly. “I couldn’t take her seriously after that.”

Tabitha smiled. “Well at least you’ve got your music, kid. Speaking of...I need your help.”

He looked at her fearfully. “Oh god, please don’t tell me Vadim has been kidnapped again.”

“Nothing so dramatic, don’t worry. It’s about Sanctuary, the settlement I’m rebuilding up north? We have a jukebox and no tunes to play, so I was wondering if we could copy some of yours.” She pulled Sturges’ blank holotapes from her pocket and waved them vaguely, squinting at the machinery around her. 

He brightened. “Oh! Sure, I can do that, no problem. It’s the least I could do after what you did for me.” He took the blank tapes from her and gave them a once over. “Not a problem at all. Give me a couple of hours and I can have our entire library on these, if you want it.”

“Everything except the songs about Butcher Pete,” said Nick. “They give me the heebie-jeebies.”

 

 **OBJECTIVE #4: THERE AND BACK AGAIN  
** _Report your success to Preston_  
_(Optional) Have a beer_

By the time they returned to Sanctuary the bar was all but finished and wired up, the generators hidden discreetly at the back of the building. It practically _glowed_ with pride in the cool night air. 

There was a large sign nailed to the front of the building, above the flags. Paint was a commodity scarcer than good manners in the Commonwealth, and so it was constructed entirely from letters they later found out Cait had located in the manager’s office at Red Rocket; they had originally been used to advertise the price of fuel on the large sign at the front of the garage.

 **T H E    M E L T I N G    P O T  
** A SANCTUARY SALOON FOR THE PEOPLE

“That,” said Nick slowly as they approached, “is so typically Hancock that it actually pains me to look at it.”

“I know,” said a voice from behind them. They turned. Preston was following them up the path, having just left the house immediately to the right of the bar - a newly-converted barracks. “There were plenty of arguments about what to call it whilst you were gone, but it was nice to see something done in a democratic way for once.”

“Who won?” Asked Tabitha.

“Nobody, really. It all just sort-of...came together after Jun remembered seeing the phrase in an old pre-war newspaper. Hancock insisted on the ‘For The People’ bit, though. He said it would help traders feel welcome.”

Nick threw her a look. _Told you so._

She threw it back. _Smartass._

“They’re just fixing up the last of the furniture,” said Preston. “I take it your mission was a success?”

“Got the holotapes _and_ the hooch,” said Tabitha. “Mostly just the holotapes, though. Vadim’s sending the rest of our shipment up the next time his supplier rolls through town, but after that we’ll have to collect it ourselves.” She patted her pockets. “I have a couple of Nuka Colas and a bottle of wine for Sturges’ crew, though.”

“Hm. Better talk to one of the settlements about buying one of their Brahmins.” Preston stretched. “I am _dying_ for a drink. Just spent all day manning the new artillery mortar - I forgot just how exhausting standing still for eight hours could be.”

“You know you don’t actually have to stand and stare at the damn thing all day, right?” Tabitha asked as they headed for the bar.

“I have to be prepared for an attack,” Preston returned primly.

They went inside, and Tabitha had to admit that Hancock had done a pretty great job. The ground floor was to act as a social den for drinkers and the whole room was bathed in a welcoming orange light from the wall lamps, which were dim enough to create an atmosphere but not so dim that you would spend the whole evening falling over your friends. The floor was constructed from the wooden debris of the old house, and the wear and tear upon it looked natural and welcoming. There was a long bar top running from the back of the room to the front on the right hand side; behind it, the shelves were covered with bottles and tinned food. A settler by the name of Beth was acting as barmaid to the ten or so men and women who made up Sturges’ crew, all of whom were sitting on the barstools that followed the bar top to its natural termination. She waved at them as they entered.

“Isn’t this great? That Ghoul friend of yours is a _genius_!”

“He’s something alright,” Tabitha heard Nick mutter from behind her - but he sounded just as impressed as she felt.

Meanwhile, the left side of the room reminded her more of an old-fashioned coffee house. There were sofas, and coffee tables, and even a wall-mounted rack covered in the various issues of various magazines she had collected throughout her travels. Deacon was sat on one of the sofas leafing through an issue of _Picket Fences_ , an open bottle of beer by his elbow.

“Sup,” he said. He held up his reading material. “This is _so_ fascinating. Did people really change the stuff in their houses every few years?”

“Yeah,” Tabitha said. “Nate decorated our nursery twice before he got it right.”

“Damn. No wonder paint is so hard to find these days.” He shook his head soberly. “Still, props to you, Vault lady. This place rocks.” He took a swig of beer, pointing at the ceiling with his forefinger as he did so. “Have you checked out the dance floor?”

They marched outside in unison and mounted the staircase up to the second floor, which was brightly lit by a string of lights pinned to the side of the building. “You might wanna talk to Sturges about some sort of railing,” Nick said uneasily as a gust of wind blew past them and the stairs creaked ominously beneath them. “I can already picture one of the boozehounds cracking his or her head on the pavement after a hard night’s dance.”

The second floor was just as impressive as the first, albeit remarkably more barren. The jukebox stood tall and proud in the centre of the back wall, next to a couple of tables set up for dancers to leave their drinks on, and a few chairs were littered down the east and west walls. The room was as atmospherically lit as the ground floor with small wall lamps, and a pleasantly cool breeze drifted across the floor from the front of the building which lay open to the elements with a simple waist-high wall as a safety barrier. Couples dancing together at the front would be able to look out at the stars.

“Never figured Hancock for a romantic,” said Nick. “But this…this is nice.”

Tabitha nodded mutely, not trusting herself to speak. The room reminded her of the first time Nate had taken her dancing, in the small mess hall he and his squad populated every Friday night like clockwork. It was too painful to think about. 

Preston was looking at the jukebox. “Okay,” he said, “I’m no Sturges but I’m pretty sure I can figure out how to change the tapes over.” He held out his hand, and Tabitha passed them to him.

She drifted towards the front of the building and stood at the fencing in silence, looking out over Sanctuary. They had changed so much of it in the past year, and their progress was somehow more jarring than the first time she had walked into town after quitting her Vault: exploring skeletal homes with Codsworth, realising with a numb ache that all of the people she’d known before were little more than dust, their meagre possessions turned to ashes and rot. In the weeks and months that followed, defence of her new friends had been her sole focus, and now each of the houses were linked to those either side of them by high fences made of junk, creating an enclosed, impenetrable space. At even intervals stood solid wooden platforms, each supporting a turret and a guard post. The Minutemen mortar stood proud in the centre of town, surrounded by benches littered with ammunition. 

From up here, she realised slowly, Sanctuary looked like a prison. She felt a stab of guilt in her gut. _We were so busy figuring out how to defend ourselves that we forgot about the basics. I made us a fortress instead of a home._ She remembered the look on Hancock’s face when he had woken her to tell her about his idea, and felt a wry smile tug at her lips. _Goddamn you, Hancock. Are you Mayor of Hancock or Mayor of the entire damn Commonwealth?_

Behind her, the jukebox emitted a loud crackling sound and then the dulcet tones of Skeeter Davis rang out into the night. “Hey, alright!” Deacon said. “My favourite tune.”

She felt a warmth beside her and glanced to her right to find Nick regarding her mildly. “You alright?” He asked quietly, patting his pockets for a cigarette.

“Yeah.” She wiped a hand across her face. “Just, uh...it’s been a long few weeks.”

There was a sudden clattering from the stairs and Hancock appeared, quickly followed by about twenty of Sanctuary’s settlers. He tipped his hat in Tabitha’s general direction. “Knew you wouldn’t let us down on those tapes, sister,” he said with a grin. “But what’s this melancholy crap doing polluting our party? I think we need something a bit more suitable for a celebration.”

Skeeter Davis gave way to Jerry Lee Lewis, and after a slow start the dance floor was quickly filled by a pleasantly tipsy bunch of dancers. Hancock, naturally, was the centre of everything: of the dancing, of the conversation, of the energy. Even the settlers who weren’t all that committed to the idea of having a Ghoul living among them - the same ones who turned away awkwardly whenever Nick Valentine walked into view - seemed to relax and embrace his company. By the end of the evening, he told Tabitha the next morning as they sat together on the pavement outside the bar sipping Codsworth’s specialist coffee, he had even been propositioned several times.

“Didn’t take any of them up?” She teased, wincing at the volume of her whisper.

“Ain’t got time for loving when there’s dancing to be done,” he replied sagely. “Dancing to good music is the freest of trips, sister. In terms of experience and caps.”

She stayed on the edge of the dance floor, watching the revelers come and go. She was amazed at just how many people they managed to fit into their small barn-like structure, and wondered how noisy it was for the drinkers below - if there were any.  Even Piper showed up at one point - “hey, I’m covering this as a _human interest_ story for the paper, Blue. Totally not an excuse to get drunk on the Occurance’s dime.” - and took several turns on the floor solo to the disappointment of many.

Nick stayed by her side for the entire night, and must have gone through eight packets of smokes by the time the sun crested the horizon, illuminating the front of the dancefloor with a radiant orange glow. Whether he did so because he didn’t like dancing or because he sensed her mood she didn’t know, but she was grateful for it all the same; just as she was grateful for Hancock, and for Deacon, and Codsworth and Piper and Curie and - well, for all of the settlers who had chosen to call Sanctuary their home despite the dangers of the world outside its walls it tempted.

The music and the dancing and the laughter continued long into the next morning, but the legend of The Melting Pot and that first dance was forever: a whiskey-tinted memory shared by the people of the Commonwealth even if they hadn’t been there for it, just as present in their minds as the mental image of the bombs that wiped out the dancers who came before them.

“I want to build a bar,” Hancock had said, but by the end of the evening Tabitha realised what he actually meant to say was: “I want to change the world.”

And so they did. One tune at a time.

 

 **QUEST COMPLETE: PROJECT HANCOCK  
** +30 Settlement Happiness  
+250XP Points

LEVEL UP!

 

 _New Perk: Melting Pot.  
_ _+10 Charisma when in the same room as a radio tuned to Diamond City Radio._


End file.
